by Angela White
“The same.” John’s tense body language revealed his worry.
“Not…dead yet,” Angela denied weakly.
You sound like it could happen any minute, honey.
As if to reinforce Kyle’s thought, Angela turned her head and threw up.
Kyle eased out of the room as John and Marc rushed to help, closing the door with a shaking hand. This time, he went to the mission team and prepared to do his duty. Damned or not, someone had to pay for this awful weight. A few of the Eagles and probably most of the camp would blame Adrian, but not Kyle. He was clear on who was responsible, and he was glad to have another target and a group of slaves to rescue. Maybe after this next run, the sense of doom might lift from his shoulders.
2
Brady?”
Marc came to her side with a bottle of water, not acknowledging Zack as the tight-lipped man took a shift keeping her warm. The trucker had insisted on pulling his weight and after her not moving for seven hours, Marc had been ready for a break.
“Hi, honey!”
Marc’s cheerful greeting didn’t match his worried blue eyes.
“How ya doin’?”
Under the heavy daze of the pain, Angela found him slowly. “Better now…stronger.”
The men around the door exchanged silent concern as Marc knelt down by the makeshift bed to help her get a drink.
“What...” Angela tried to form sentences through the thick fog in her head. “How long…?”
“It’s dusk, a day after,” Marc answered, wiping away some of the blood on her chin by using the small drops of water that she spilled.
Her profile flooded with despair–physical and mental–as memories and pain swarmed down.
Now was the time she might change the path she’d chosen, but Marc already knew. “Say it.”
“I don’t regret…anything.”
Marc leaned down to press a light kiss to her hot forehead. “Then hurry up and get better, so you can do it again.”
Angela’s lashes closed. “Love you, Brady.”
Marc drew air into shrunken lungs. “Love you, too, baby-cakes.”
She chortled in surprise and then cramped up in agony.
“Let her rest!” Behind her, Zack’s glare was unexpected. “And give her something for the pain!”
“She’s got a bit to go,” John stated from the other side of her bed. He’d been puffing restlessly on his empty pipe for hours, worrying and stewing. “And she needs to eat.”
Zack noted the beads of sweat popping out on Angela’s pale skin. “No way. She’s rockin’ rough.”
John quickly gave her a fresh dose of the calmative, and Angela looked at Zack in gratitude as her stomach eased. It should have felt odd, or maybe even dangerous to be lying in the trucker’s warm arms, but there was only a sense of being protected. Kenn had another surprise coming.
“Can you eat now?” Zack asked.
“Maybe.” Angela closed her heavy lids.
Surprising those listening, Zack kept the conversation going. “We have a wide variety for the patient to pick from–all canned, though.”
“Applesauce,” John ordered, wishing he had her in camp with all his equipment.
“Some…variety,” Angela muttered.
Her joke eased the tension a bit, and she huddled against Zack’s warmth, feeling Marc’s stare, his thoughts.
“One of them…will tell you,” she forced out, blurry vision resting on her gun in his backup holster. She couldn’t use it now, and that hurt as much as the gaping hole in her shoulder.
“I’ll wait,” Marc stated, wondering exactly what was upsetting her. It wasn’t the battle they’d left behind. He wasn’t sensing any remorse.
“Tell him what?” Zack asked, confused.
“He wants to see what went down, what went wrong.” Standing in the doorway, Adrian gestured bitterly toward the rest stop. “With that aftermath, wouldn’t you?”
“You wanna examine it? Ask one of us!” Zack snarled, angry for reasons he refused to name. He grabbed Marc’s wrist with his free hand. “Don’t make her relive it!”
Marc froze at the ugly flashes. He understood Zack could only do it because he was touching Angela, but it was a shock to realize that the trucker also knew that he could.
“Go easy…” Angela moaned.
The angry man didn’t spare Marc at all as he went through every scream, every gush of blood he’d witnessed. It went on for a long time, and Marc’s expression darkened steadily.
When Zack finally let go, the tension crackled.
Angela shuddered, and Zack realized she had relived it anyway, through him. He snapped his mouth shut.
“I’m sorry…it was so awful for you,” Angela gasped, shoulder and back alive with torment as the painkillers dissipated.
Zack snorted violently in protest, jarring her, and she groaned.
“Damn.” Now guilty of what he had punished Marc for, Zack let his head drop to his arm–gently. “Someone get the damn applesauce already.”
Over their heads, Adrian met John’s eye. “Soon?”
The doctor nodded. “In a few hours. I’ll call you.”
Adrian moved away, not looking forward to the wait. Angela’s pain and suffering wasn’t over.
3
Angela shivered despite the baking heat of the two men holding her. The fever had come shortly after she’d thrown up, and had resisted John’s attempts to get it under control. By midnight, it had been soaring and he’d chosen to operate.
“Hold her still,” John ordered.
Grips tightened, and Angela groaned, biting down to stifle the scream.
Kyle barely noticed, meeting Marc’s terrified eyes. The look said it wouldn’t be much longer, and Marc tightened his mental grip.
“Almost there…” John grunted, tensing his wrist against the pressure, and the needle slid through. One firm tug, and the ravaged artery was closed. “Squeeze the bag!” John snapped at Neil.
The doctor quickly removed the packing sponges he’d inserted while repairing the nick. He worked steadily, taking the ready sutures from Adrian’s hand.
John slid the last of the gauze out and gave a harsh grunt. “Bingo.”
“Good, right?” Angela croaked out, needing the distraction.
Billy smiled down at her. “Yes, you are 5-by.”
“Um… Shit!”
Blood sprayed them and the wall.
“Pack it off!” John demanded.
“What’s wrong?” Marc asked tersely.
“Blew a stitch, that’s all,” John soothed, quickly replacing it.
He added an extra layer of thread, and there was silent fear under every labored breath Angela took.
“Okay. Get ready,” John warned.
Neil grabbed another wad of gauze and squeezed the bag faster.
Zack, who John had known was the same blood type, was already hooked up to her.
The stitch held this time, and John sprinkled on another layer of the battlefield clotting agent that Adrian had used.
“Roll now, slowly, towards the wall…there. Hold it.”
John nodded at Marc, who delivered a shot of calmative, and a gentle swipe of the sweat from her brow.
“Halfway there…” John sliced into the infected scabs on her back.
4
“We’re being watched.”
Adrian wiped Angela’s blood from his hands, sweeping the early morning fog. There were no obvious signs, but Kyle wasn’t wrong. There was a clear sense of eyes on them.
“Should we sneak out and take care of it?”
Adrian shook his head, thoughts still on the surgery. Would it be enough? “They’ll come to us soon enough. Revenge is best served cold, but few have the patience to wait for it.”
Kyle scowled. “More slavers?”
“Probably. We look like an easy target, I’d guess, to any of them who survived. Keep the men calm,” Adrian instructed. “Our enemy likes to strike when the lights go out. We’v
e got time to kill.”
Kyle waved Neil over and Adrian moved toward the small room he’d chosen. He was aware of Cynthia trailing him, but didn’t stop to talk. He was hoping for a few hours of quiet contemplation before all hell broke loose again.
Adrian left the door open, and began removing his shirt. He hadn’t had a clean one on in days and the reek coming from this garment said it would burn instead of being washed like he did with most of his clothing.
“I want…need something else from you.”
Adrian looked up to see Cynthia standing stiffly in the doorway, dark eyes wide with something he recognized instantly.
“Can I come in for a minute?”
He nodded, considering the answer before she asked the question. He noted that she only stepped a foot inside the room–still respecting the old boundaries–but closed the door.
Cynthia didn’t speak. Staring at his bare chest, she wasn’t sure that she could.
Adrian didn’t need to hear the words. Her cheeks were flushed, swollen body begging for a man’s knowing touch...and after what she’d done, one of his Eagles wouldn’t satisfy that itch.
“I’m not sure that I can.” Adrian gave a regretful sigh, body already responding. Another layer of guilt sank onto his shoulders–that he would enjoy this moment while Angela fought for her life nearby, was unconscionable.
Sensing the opposite of his answer, Cynthia inched further into the dimly lit room. She knew how it worked after a bloody battle, how the Eagles sought out their relief sources upon returning to camp. “You’ll try?”
“Of course, Ms. Quest.” Adrian watched her carefully search for exits, still shocked that she had been the one to save Angela.” I aim to please.”
Instead of a flinch at the reminder of her role in Cesar’s death, Cynthia smiled in a soft, understanding way that Adrian hadn’t thought her capable of.
“Just do the best you can. I know I’m not her.” Telling him that she knew of his growing obsession with Angela–and she was a willing substitute.
Positive that’s exactly who she would become in his mind, Adrian motioned her toward his bedroll. “You’ll be satisfied when I’m finished.”
“Yes,” Cynthia moaned eagerly, lust riding her. “That’s what I need.”
Adrian waited for the reporter to kneel on his bedroll, dimming the other emotions, as need–raw and thick–coursed through his hard flesh. When she started removing her shirt, revealing sun-kissed skin flecked in blood, Adrian let the grateful man inside free. At this moment, he needed a release and an escape. Cynthia needed to be rewarded, brought into the light. It would be a few hours well spent.
Kyle and Neil exchanged knowing glances when Cynthia didn’t come back out, but neither of them begrudged the personal moment. Cynthia had ended things publicly with Jeremy before he started his sniper shift, and this definitely hadn’t been Adrian’s idea. He’d barely tolerated the reporter.
As they moved outside to fill the perimeter gaps, the two senior men also understood that there wasn’t anything that Adrian would deny Cynthia now–even the truth of who he’d been, if she asked for it. Adrian’s slug to the forehead had brought Cesar down, but it had been the last shot fired. Without Cynthia’s brutal bullet to the back to throw off his aim, Cesar’s second shot would have hit Angela in the forehead. It had gone high by an inch and trimmed Adrian’s arm. Cesar might have gotten lucky there and killed them both. Cynthia was about to be a camp favorite.
The landscape around the country club was alive with swirling movement as a fog bank rolled in.
“We’re good?” Neil asked.
“Plan’s solid.” Kyle shrugged. “We just keep waiting.”
Neil frowned. “I want a better vantage point.”
Kyle watched Neil pull his jacket closer against the chill and picked a tree. The trooper scaled it as if he’d been doing that sort of thing all his life. They’d changed a number of times in last six months. First, as a result of the war, and then again from joining Adrian’s army, but also when Angela had come. Now, they would adapt once more.
5
“She’ll live.”
Noise filled the chilly lounge at John’s call from the door, pulling Angela from her sedative-induced sleep and she opened her lids to find Marc staring back. Few things had ever looked as good to her.
“They just learned the news,” Marc explained.
Angela heard the happy sounds from a distance, heavily medicated, and tried to joke, “Shoulda asked me.”
Hard to talk to the dead. Marc swallowed the thought, closing dusty, faded blinds against the late afternoon glare. “We’ll remember that.”
Ready to face a fear, Angela bit her lip and slowly reached over to grasp her other hand.
Afraid of what she’d find, Marc observed in horror. She thought it was gone.
“The infection started…and I still can’t feel it,” she explained hoarsely, trying unsuccessfully to prevent relieved tears. “I didn’t know what I’d do.”
Marc dropped his forehead to hers, unable to speak. How many times had he heard that during his years as a government killing-machine? It never got easier, but to hear it from the woman he loved! Marc plugged his wounds as best he could.
Angela rubbed at her cold fingers restlessly. There wasn’t even pressure when she squeezed. Without her gun, she wasn’t an Eagle.
Maybe that’s why Adrian didn’t say a single word to me during the surgery, and why he hadn’t been in since John finished or taken a shift as heater. He doesn’t want to tell me that I’ve destroyed part of his dream by being too hurt to continue.
“I won’t quit,” Angela swore weakly. “He’ll have to take my jacket.”
Her strength drew respect from Marc, and her next words allowed him to glimpse how far ahead she had already planned her future as an Eagle.
“I made Level One with the left, two weeks ago. I might be okay with that… He might let me stay.”
Refusing to ask if she had known she would be injured, Marc smoothed her hair down. “I think so, too.”
He’d had hours to think about Adrian’s words–“It’s limited by gender.”–and finally caught the tone. Adrian might not be able to bring her back from the edge of death, but he could do something for her. Marc would bet on it.
Under the full edge of the painkillers, Angela carefully lifted her good hand and guided Marc’s mouth down to hers.
Ever so gently, Marc kissed her…and his rage faded another notch.
The drugs pulled, and Angela dozed with the taste and smell of Brady to guide the way.
6
Marc stepped out into the chilly hall and turned to see Cynthia leaving the lounge.
Behind her, Adrian lifted a gentle hand that curled into her wild hair and tugged her back for a soft kiss and lingering hug. It was done openly, reinforcing her new acceptance.
Marc gave Adrian a nod of approval as the leader left Cynthia to head outside for guard duty. Adrian knew how to reward his people–there was no doubt there–and the reporter certainly deserved whatever rewards she chose.
Marc studied Cynthia, wondering if she felt as satisfied as she looked. When she moved closer, he noted the tiny smile on her swollen lips, the careful tread that spoke of a deep, close sexual experience. Yes, Adrian had served her well.
Good. Marc sent a wave of pleasure and light with his grateful smile. “I’m in your debt.”
Cynthia flushed under his approval, feeling her body wake (she was attracted to Adrian, but Marc still sent her heart into heavy thuds) and pushed it back. If she longed for the same from Marc–and I do!–he would try to give it, but Cynthia would never endanger her new life that way. Getting between him and Angela, in any manner, was strictly forbidden.
“She would have done it for me,” Cynthia stated finally, unable to help wondering if Marc’s thick arms would have held her so closely, so perfectly.
“Yes. You’ve honored her,” Marc agreed. “She’ll return the favor.”
>
Cynthia shifted to a more comfortable position. A hard floor was something her feet rarely ever dealt with now, thanks to the war. Adrian had said the same thing to her, and she would never forget the sound of his voice in her head.
Marc’s troubled gaze went to the door where Angela was being kept warm by Billy. It wasn’t hard to share these hours with the men that he couldn’t help but partially hate. Her agony was a torment they deserved to experience, too.
Cynthia pulled Adrian’s shirt closer around her shoulders, flushing darker at the smells of their passion. “If I had to, I’d do it again, only I’d be faster.”
Her pitch lowered to an achingly familiar tone of determination.
“Next time, I will be faster.”
“He sure found some strong women to play these roles,” Marc snorted bitterly.
Cynthia’s chin went up. “To fight for his dreams!”
Not letting Marc’s churning emotions rub off, the reporter stepped around him, going to where she had her bedroll wedged between two long tables. She was one of them now, and that was enough. Her need to see Adrian hanged had vanished the instant she’d saved Angela, and unlike the muttering man now going outside, Cynthia already knew they were a set. No matter what had happened in their pasts, you didn’t get Angela without Adrian, and when that bloody fighter recovered, she would make that clear to Marc.
Content for the first time in her life, Cynthia drifted to sleep with the magical sensation of Adrian’s touch lingering on her skin and in her heart.
7
As the sun sank under a crimson sky, Marc found Adrian standing on the porch–in the open and once again tempting fate.
“She’s wondering why you haven’t taken a shift–worrying over it like she’s done something wrong.”
Adrian didn’t turn from his post in the darkness, and Marc moved to his right–the place he was more worthy of than Kenn, but didn’t want.
“She thinks she’s not an Eagle without her gun.”
“She’ll always be an Eagle,” Adrian stated firmly.
Marc hated him for it. “Yes.”
“What do you need?” Adrian pushed, wanting this moment out of the way. Two mutts and one perfect bone...
